Perhaps our thoughts had veered off in different directions, but we would always come back together—as eternal as our circular wedding bands.
“Always,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his neck, refusing to let go.
My husband closed his eyes, the gallant speech over, placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. He picked me up, slow-dancing with me in his arms to the old country tune playing on the old radio. I closed my eyes, my eyes watering but a smile on my face.
A stronger wind kicked up, and I shivered.
Mariano carried me into the home we were just starting to build together, laying me down gently in the bed we were making together, and made love to me until the sun came up.
Chapter 32
Sistine
After the wedding festivities were over, it seemed as if the ranch settled in for a long, cold winter. It had only been a short amount of time since my cousin and her husband vowed their lives to each other, but the weather had taken a sharp turn. The wind whistling through the trees was no longer meandering, giving the world a glimpse of what was to come.
What was to come had arrived.
I shivered and pulled my—Mariano’s—flannel closer. I would have to trade the thinner material for a fabric that was thicker. I pulled the beanie down on my head and told Rockyno, he could not eat it. Each time I bent over to do something, he came at me—hard. His butting behavior was growing worse. He attempted to get me as he did my father-in-law. In theculo, or at the least, my hat, which he wanted to eat.
I gave him a rub on the head and a carrot. We would be leaving for Italy in the next week, and although he was a pain, I would miss his cute face. By the time I returned, he would be a full-on male goat. I wondered if he would even remember me.
Remo nodded toward him. “He is a pest.”
“He is.” I grinned. “I still love him.”
“Do not tell Mariano this,” he said. “He will use him for skewers.”
In Italy, the lower men called the higher mensignor, although they were related. It was odd. In America, the rules were a little laxer. Remo called Mariano by his first name. It seemed more natural.
I stilled and gaped at him. When I could finally organize a coherent thought and my mouth was able to work in tandem with it, I said, “Remo, did you just make a joke?”
He shrugged.
I laughed, then laughed even harder when Remo bent down to pick up a rake and Rocky got him in the behind. I was not even sure how to describe the noise that came from Remo’s mouth, but it was funny enough to make me laugh even harder.
Rocky must have found it hilarious as well. “Baaaaaa!” He seemed to be laughing, pulling his front lip up, showing his teeth. He did not hit Remo hard enough to send him over, but he was close to seeing his intentions sprawled out on the barn floor.
Remo popped up, giving Rocky a stern look, and I laughed even harder when Rocky took a place behind me. He stuck his tongue out at Remo.
Mariano came into the barn, and Remo rose to his full height, his face going blank. A grin still lingered on my face, but I toyed with Rocky, putting all my attention on him. Mariano had not been in a good mood after the wedding was over. Atta and Angelo were leaving in a week or two for their honeymoon. We would be leaving soon as well. His mood reflected the dark turn the weather was about to take.
It was, perhaps, warranted. We did not seem to ever have enough uninterrupted time. We did not have a proper honeymoon, as Atta and Angelo were going to have, and we both seemed to crave it.
First, Italy, and what awaited us there.
Mariano stared at Remo, then looked at me, then at Rocky, then back at Remo.
Rocky made a noise at Mariano and then razzed at him.
Mariano’s eyebrows drew down and his eyes narrowed on the kid. “Fucking skewer meat,” he said.
I was not sure why, nerves or something else, but I exploded with laughter again. Mariano’s eyes landed on me and softened. I smiled at him when I could. A smile that meant—it’sus.Usagainst the world. I would not allow my family to come between us, and neither would he. Just as he would not have allowed his family to come between us. Whatever waited for us in Italy would be taken care of. The maze, the end game, would be easy enough. It was the details in the middle that might prove to be difficult. My family was not going to want us together. End of story.
Nonno had been right. We were going to have to fight.
The thought of Capri made me uneasy. She was truly unhinged. She might even attempt to drown me in the canal. This time, I would fight her. I had something worth fighting for.
The man gazing at me from across the barn.
